


Rewrite an ending or two

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: Wrote this while thinking of Sara Barellis’ She Used To Be Mine. Mummy Holmes has every single parenting regret under the sun.





	Rewrite an ending or two

No one tells you how much lying you have to do as a parent. 

Some of it is simple – the tooth fairy and Santa are delightful stories that bring magic and wonder.

Not that she’d know. Mycroft was three when he figured out Santa ( _Mummy, why does Santa have the same handwriting as you?_ he asked, and then the jig was up) and she tried with Sherlock and Eurus, but they also cottoned on to the fact that magic wasn’t real. It was just Mummy and Daddy staying up late at night. There were no reindeer or a fat man coming down the chimney. 

Sometimes, she blamed Mycroft for that – that he couldn’t have been more convincing in his pretending Santa was real, despite her asking him to try and keep some magic for his siblings. 

But in real moments of honesty, she knows it’s not his fault. It was never his fault. It was hers. She was always a terrible liar, a truth-seeker, trying to find the real story. Even her parents teased her about how quickly she found out the tooth fairy was just her sleepy parents sneaking into her room to leave a coin under the pillow.

They  never saved her teeth sadly – she would’ve loved to have done an experiment on them. But parents didn’t do that back then. They didn’t encourage such oddness.

No, no one tells you how much lying you have to do as a parent.

Some of it is to convince herself so she can keep getting out of bed and moving forward because she can’t go back. Decisions have been made, doors shut, paths drawn out in loops and spirals that feel like they choke her some days because she can’t see where they’re going. 

_Our children are fine. They don’t need other children to play with. They have each other. Eurus is just lashing out for attention and you can’t reward that. Mycroft is fine. He’s always been even keeled, willing to help, such a good boy. Such a strong young man to help with his brother. He’s not the most emotional, but boys really aren’t about emotions are they?_

It’s not until the end that she can see what happened and wonder how the hell they got there. How the hell all of this could’ve happened.

And she wonders how much of it was her fault. How letting her children have the life she wished you could’ve had – free-spirited, curiosity encouraged, no boundaries and limits – could’ve ended with this. 

Then the worst question comes up.  _Why did I bother becoming a parent anyways if I knew it was going to end in this? I should’ve stayed in math. It was obvious I wasn’t suited to be a mother. I didn’t want this. Everyone told me I should and children would be great and complete me._

And they did, for a small time. But Mycroft was never a warm baby – maybe it was herr fault because she was adjusting to a new role as mother and he sensed it. Tried to make her happy by doing what pleased her, tried to take care of her when things were really awful, when she couldn’t get out of bed. Tried to keep his manners. Always watching with careful eyes, planning a couple steps ahead to try and keep things on an even keel.

She were so grateful for that that she never bothered to see what he wanted and if he was okay. 

Elementary parenting mistake. They’re never really telling the truth when they say “fine” with sad eyes.

Sherlock was warm – a bright eyed, curious baby with a lusty cry. From the very beginning he was hers – the way he would snuggle into her arms, voraciously looking to latch onto her breast. There was no doubt he understood her. It also helped that she understood babies a little more and weren’t as phased by the midnight feedings and bouts of colic.

And then she got the girl she wanted so badly. Everyone warned her about how boys eventually leave and never look back, but with girls, they become your best friend. But Eurus was different. Not planning ahead like Mycroft, not warm like Sherlock. She was distant. There was something in her expression that always seemed like a mystery. No one knew the truth with her until it was too late.

Maybe it was that – just wanting that little bit more that is how she ended up here. With a burnt down estate, a son who was limited in seeing how lying made everything worse (how ironic it is that the children thought they could make decisions for their parents – how the tables turned), a drug addict and a murderer arsonist for a daughter.

Maybe she should’ve stuck with math. It would’ve been easier to see the patterns then from above instead of teasing them out while in the thick of it. Maybe she could’ve rewrote and ending or two.


End file.
